My Slut Wife Life Ch. 05

The point is, in a little more than eight weeks, I'd gone from the typical suburban wife to a woman who would drop and suck her husband's cock at no more than a nod from him, baring my body no matter who might be watching, and generally acting like a rutting animal with no more on its mind than satisfying the insatiable urge to scratch its primeval need to procreate.

It was about this time that my owner decided he wanted to do a better job of recording our intimate actions for posterity.

Since the very beginning of our new lifestyle, my owner was very interested in photographing my body in a variety of semi-nude and nude positions. As the weeks progressed, I graduated from posing with lingerie to revealing more and more of my most intimate body parts. He finished up that series with a 50 photo expose on the inside of my dripping pussy, with special emphasis on my erect clit. He followed that up with another series on my gaping asshole, wet and quaking from a raunchy anal fuck. And he was always keen to take pictures of his cum decorating his slut wife: a creampie dripping slowly from my cunt, an anal creampie bubbling from my ass, a facial that coated my forehead to my chin, a load moisturizing my tits, his jizz warming my feet, and the classic load in the mouth.

From there, he moved on to recording himself as he fucked, used and abused my body. Sometimes he would hold the camera himself, other times he would put it on a tripod, so he could keep his attention on his own pleasure and bending me to his will. It was clear, though, that after a week of experimentation, he wasn't getting the results he wanted. He wanted it to look more like a porn shoot, with multiple angles and closeups when the situation called for it. What he got was a clearly homemade effort, with a shaky camera and crappy sound. You could barely tell who I was, and could barely tell how big his dick was. Clearly not acceptable to someone who wanted to expose his wife and show the world how dominant he was.

One Friday night, that changed for good. That's when our lifestyle started down that slippery slope to another level of depravity. That night, he had me wear an open bust black one-piece bodystocking to greet my owner at the door. Crotchless, too, of course.

I met him at the door and he immediately put aside his briefcase and computer bag, then pulled me into the kitchen, where he dropped the seat cushion from one of the chairs onto the floor, then nodded at it, while he sat down in the chair. I knew exactly what to do without a word from him. Pushing the cushion between his outstretched legs, I dropped down onto my knees, undid his pants, and pulled his sacred cock out.

I had just begun to suck his inflating snake into my mouth when I noticed movement in the doorway we'd just come through. There was someone there! Someone there watching us! I started to pull my head back so I could warn my husband, but he forced my head back onto his cock with a not-so-gentle shove. I looked up at him, with the warning hopefully in my eyes, only to find him gazing down at me in bemusement. He knew there was someone inside the house and watching! And he didn't care.

It was simple but misguided instinct to try and cover my exposed breasts and pussy. But it soon became clear to me that one arm wasn't going to cover my big tits, and covering my pussy didn't matter as long as I was kneeling on the floor and sucking a big thick dick. So I turned my attention to the why and how of it.

He knew there was someone there. The only way into the house was through the garage. So he either invited the person in, or they'd wandered in on their own. Who would wander in? A delivery man? The postman? A neighbor looking to borrow something? Whoever it was, it wasn't someone that I wanted to be watching me performing fellatio on my husband. Especially not dressed in a bodystocking that left nothing to the imagination, but did leave my bare tits and pussy out where anyone could see them. I wasn't sure what was worse: displaying my near nakedness or performing a sex act in front of an unknown person.

That thought, bewilderingly, made me want to get as much of his cock into my mouth as possible. To keep anyone from seeing the length and girth of his erect manhood? Then I thought about how THAT would look to the observer: me being such a cock slut that I'm so eager to deepthroat him. But then I thought that I might actually be a cock slut, because my thudding heart revealed that I was once again excited by the idea of someone watching me do something dirty and kinky and promiscuous. Such was the confusing swirl of my thoughts.

Even as I contemplated all that, I had to decide what to do with my free hand. I was only allowed to have one hand on his dick while I sucked it. He'd made the rule at the beginning, reasoning that two hands would be a handjob, so if I was ordered to give him a blowjob, only one hand was allowed. So normally I would use my free hand to rub my pussy, which he allowed as it would get me all worked up. But now I felt self-conscious about playing with my pussy while a stranger watched so closely. Whoever it was would be close enough to see that I was as horny as a rutting animal, completely unable to keep my hands away from my dripping pussy and hardening clit. So I let my hand just settle on my thigh, though several times I noticed that it had gone back to lightly stroking my pussy lips, and I'd have to force myself to remove it.

With all those thoughts fighting for attention in my head, it was hard to concentrate on giving my owner a good blowjob. I sucked at his sacred cock, licking the shaft until it gleamed, and using the raspy back of my tongue to massage the sensitive underside. I forced him down into my throat until my lips met the root, holding him there even as my throat gagged against the breath-stifling intrusion. I licked his balls thoroughly, swathing the sac with my spit, crushing my face into his groin. I licked behind his balls, too, planning to give him a rim job, but he demurred. So I went back to sucking and munching on his fat fuck stick.

Every so often I would dart a glance at the stranger in the doorway, but he/she remained obscured in shadow. All I could do was wonder who it was, and to force that speculation out of my mind to try and concentrate on administering a blowjob that my owner would enjoy. Maybe it was a test? That made sense. To see if I could keep my concentration on his cock, where it should be. I endeavored to pass this test.

"Nice," my owner said, his first words since returning home. "Now push that off and give me a tit job," he ordered, shifting his ass to the edge of the chair. I complied with his order, tugging the netting off my shoulders and arms, and pushing it down to my belly. Somehow I felt more exposed than before, even though my boobs had been fully exposed through the holes in the fabric. My owner doesn't usually like using a lube for a tit job, in case he wants to chew on or lick my tits afterwards. So my spit has to suffice.

I kept my eyes on his face as I pushed my tits together and slid them up and down over his erect cock. A tit job for him means that I do all the work, unless I'm laying on my back and he fucks my cleavage like its just another tight hole for him to fill. Sliding up and down on him, pressing my boobs together and making sure that every stroke is a tight one almost made me forget that there was someone watching. Every so often I would take a break and rub his cock head over the part of my nipple that was exposed by the clamps. I don't know how it feels for him, but I love the touch of his cock on my nips. And his manhood looks so ominously potent next to the soft flesh of my boobs.

"Enough," he finally said, pushing me away hard enough that I almost fell over. Earlier in my training I would've wondered if I'd done something wrong. But now I knew that it was just another way to remind me that he was in charge. His next command, "Worship," had me crouched down on the floor so low that my tits were pressed against the floor. I pressed my lips against his shoes, deliberately kissing them in a display of obeisance that my owner expects of me as often as he desires. If his feet are bare, I'm also to lick his soles and toes to show how grateful I am to him that he would allow me to serve him. It makes me feel like a worthless slave when I do it, but despite my humiliation it gets me revved up too.

"Good," he praised me, as I waited in the worship position for his next order. "Now strip and stand for inspection." I hurried to rid myself of the bodystocking. Then I stood in the inspection position, my hands clasped on the back of my head, my legs slightly apart, my body erect and my bosom thrust out, giving my owner full access to every part of my body. Because his head was below mine, I kept my eyes staring at the floor. It's not permissible to assume a posture that's above his.

"Impressive," a voice sounded from the doorway, almost causing me to jump out of my skin. In my eagerness to please my owner, I'd forgotten about the stranger! "It seems well-trained, and not too hard on the eyes," the voice - it was clearly a man - stated. I wanted to look and see who was talking, but my training was quite clear: never break position unless I'm told to. So all I could do was keep staring at the floor and hope that the man would come into my view at some point.

"Yes, she's taken to the training quite well. Though she has a long way to go," my owner added, tucking his cock back in his pants and rising from the chair. "Someday she might be a valuable piece of property."

"So you are master and slave?" the voice inquired. It sounded like an innocent question, but I thought I could hear a tone of greedy desire behind it.

"Ah, no. I am the owner and she is my property," my owner chuckled. "I'm not a big fan of being called 'master.' So I have her call me 'Sir.' It confers more respect. Or so I like to think."

"She is not a 'she' but an 'it'," the man responded. "Very good. I shall endeavor to remember that." His voice had a hint of German in it. Not an accent, per se, but just an undertone. His next words gave me a chill. "May I inspect it?"

"Sure," my husband replied in a bland tone. "That's what you're here for, after all."

Alarm bells rang in my head as those plain words broke through the surrealism of the moment. I was standing completely naked, my tits, pussy and ass totally exposed, with my hands behind my head in a stance indicating pure submission, and my husband had just invited a man, a stranger, to inspect my body. The last man to have done that, besides my husband/owner, had been the doctor. And even he had the decency to dress me in a thin paper gown before reaching inside and examining me. This man was no doctor, and I could tell from his voice that this man had left decency behind a long time ago.

"It seems to be in good shape," the man stated. His voice came from over my right shoulder, and I could hear him moving around me. "It has a nice coloration, and its flesh appears to be pleasingly firm."

"It exercises daily," my owner confirmed. "And it gets a daily dose of special skin moisturizer, if you know what I mean," he said with a smile in his voice.

It? It? It! Now my owner had picked up that infernal way of describing me. They continued to discuss me as if I wasn't in the room, commenting on the firmness of my breasts, the fine trimming of my pussy patch, the size of my mouth and its ability to suck cock, the muscles of my thighs and the size of my feet. And each time, they described me as an "it." Worse, I couldn't look at them to see if they were baiting me. I had to keep my eyes locked on the floor.

"Does it have a name?" the man asked, when they'd finally finished dissecting my physical appearance.

"It changes every day," my owner answered. "And I haven't assigned one for today. But for simplicity's sake, you can call it 'Tits.' It seems appropriate at the moment."

The man barked a short laugh. "Yes, it does." He moved to stand in front of me. "Now, Tits, you may look at me. You will call me Mr. Hans. That, of course, is not my real name. But it will do for what we need to accomplish. Please do not forget the 'Mister.' It is a sign of respect for me and my craft. And I would hate to see you punished for forgetting to show respect."

I raised my head to look at the man who'd just examined nearly every inch of my body. He wasn't what I expected. He stood about 5-foot-eight, was of average build, and seemed to be in his early 60's. His grey hair was closely cropped, and he looked not unlike the many older men who always seem to be prowling the aisles at the local hardware store. Not grandfatherly, but not menacing either. Until I saw his eyes. They were flint grey, and I saw a darkness behind them that couldn't be disguised by the easy way he held his body. Those eyes said 'predator.' And I was standing exposed and defenseless in front of him.

He looked at me a moment longer, as if to make sure that I recognized exactly what he was, before turning to my owner and asking, "May I make a more thorough inspection?"

No! I stared at my husband with a look that could only be read as, "Don't let this man anywhere near me," but he barely even looked my way before answering, "Of course. If it will make your job easier later on."

Mr. Hans turned back to me and gently palmed both of my tits. "They are as firm as they look," he said over his shoulder. "And they are what size?" he asked. I looked to my owner in shock, but he only nodded his permission to speak.

"They are a D-cup, Mr. Hans," I responded, surprised that I didn't stumble over his name.

"Very nice, very nice," he murmured, squeezing each one a little tighter before rubbing the face of his thumb across the top of each nipple. That last bit almost made me break posture, it weakened my knees that much. After giving each breast a final squeeze, he lightly stroked my waist and hips. Then, at his direction, I opened my mouth so he could inspect the inside. He held my mouth open with his thumb, and rested his hand against the side of my throat. I could feel his fingers lightly pressed against my jugular, and knew he could feel the pulsing of my blood beneath those fingers. I became keenly aware that a simple squeeze of his hand could throttle my life from me.

He knew that I knew that. I could see it in his eyes. I wondered again why this man was here. And if my husband knew just how dangerous he was.

"Have it bend over. I want to show you something," Mr. Hans suggested. Though I didn't want to do it, though I was embarrassed beyond belief, I still bent over at the waist and held myself in place against the kitchen counter. I felt Mr. Hans touching my ass cheeks and the slit of my pussy. "See, here, how its mound is visible when it's bent over? That makes for good shots. Men like to see that. Want to see what they're getting into, I guess." He barked another short laugh.

He thought it was funny, but all it did was make me wonder what men would be seeing my pussy in that position? And what kind of shots was he talking about? Then, even with all the poking and prodding my owner was letting Mr. Hans do, I wasn't prepared for the command to Spread. Was this it, I wondered, as I got down on the floor, laid back and spread my legs open? Was my husband/owner going to let this man fuck me? To penetrate me in a way no other man had done since before we started dating? And would I put up with it, or would this be the time that I would put an end to it all, to refuse and go get dressed, knowing that my husband would be shamed by my behavior and but wouldn't press the issue, ending forever our experiment into the dark side of sex.

It certainly seemed as though I was going to have to make that decision as Mr. Hans stood between my legs, an erection clearly growing in his pants. And it seemed even more certain when my owner gave the "spread wider" command, where I spread my legs apart as wide as I can and then pull my pussy lips apart so they can see deep into my cunt hole. Was this going to be how it would happen? Would he soon be dropping his trousers to reveal his throbbing cock, and make me hold my pussy lips apart while he slipped his rod into the sheath of my cunt, the journey smoothed by the gallons of juice forming even now in my nasty fuck hole? Could I let him take me that way, urge him to fuck me harder and deeper, and be a willing receptacle for his load of sperm?

He seemed to know what I was thinking as he gazed down at me, his eyes hungrily devouring my naked flesh, my willing tits and my welcoming cunt. He seemed to know that he could have me, right there, right then, ignoring my husband's weak protestations as he took whatever he wanted, making me scream and moan in a mixture of humiliation and ecstasy. He would fuck me silly, leave me both drained and overflowing, filling me with enough sperm to coat parts of my cunt that had never been touched before.

Then he stepped away, leaving me open, exposed and relieved, trembling in the knowledge that I wouldn't have protested, wouldn't have ended the experiment, but would have taken him between my legs, letting him violate me under the auspices of being a good slave, but knowing deep in my heart that I was nothing more than a slut that would've enjoyed the feel of his cock roughly raping my cunt, giving sexual succor to any stranger who happened along.

"It has potential," Mr. Hans said to my owner, as I lay still spread out on the floor, evidently forgotten. "Potential and a willingness to obey."

"It is very obedient," my owner agreed. He stepped over to stand between my legs, then leaned right over my open cunt. "Stay still," he ordered, then dribbled a gob of spit onto his lips, and then let it fall directly into my open cunt hole. He'd never done that before, but I remained still, thankful that he hadn't let it drop someplace even more degrading, like on my face.

"So," he said, turning back to Mr. Hans. "Can you work with this? And do you want to?"

"I think I can find time in my schedule for a new project," Mr. Hans replied. "You do understand that in addition to any plans you might have, I'm likely to have some suggestions of my own. That's why you're hiring me, instead of some punk kid with a cheap digital camera."

"I understand," my owner replied. "That is why I answered your ad. I want something that's memorable."

"And as to my fee?"

They wandered into the other room, presumably to discuss the fee, while I continued to lay on the floor with my thighs cramping as I tried to keep my legs spread wide and my pussy pulled apart. It never even occurred to me to relax my position. My mind was engaged elsewhere.

Mr. Hans was clearly a photographer. That much was clear. But also some kind of a specialist. Someone who specialized in adult photography? Kinky pictures? Submissive wives? I had too many questions and not enough answers.

My owner returned alone and put me in the Kneel for Inspection position, in which I kneel, sitting back on my heels, with my hands clasped behind my head. Much more comfortable than being left in "Spread Wide." I heard the front door slam. Mr. Hans had left.

"So, Tits, as you may have guessed, Mr. Hans is going to be our official photographer for a while. He has some very interesting ideas on how to best show off your assets. And some ideas on how I can train you better," he explained. "I was a little worried that his fee would be too high, but it all worked out perfectly in the end."

He undressed quickly while I knelt there, my mind keenly focused on every word. He stepped forward and rubbed the tip of his cock back and forth over my closed lips, before nudging it forward in a clear sign that I was to suck him, and apparently without using my hands.